


In Our Eyes

by NamelesslyNightlock



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alliances, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, BAMF Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Chases, Enemies to Friends, Feelings, Fights, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mother-Son Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Protective Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Realization, Survival, Swordfighting, Swords, Trope Subversion, Understanding, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26341309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: Joe has always known about the monsters, the creatures of darkness that his village has battled for generations. But when he meets one, he learns that what he has been taught is not entirely the truth.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 8
Kudos: 137





	In Our Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Massive, colossal thank you to **Rabentochter** , who read this through for me and tagged it as well ❤︎  
>   
> Also, I am aware that to some - and due to the characters involved - this could read as a metaphor for the crusades. I entirely did not mean it that way, I just wanted to write a fic with this theme—and I won't lie, as I was writing it slowly became inspired by that Doctor Who episode. The one with the half fish people and Jenny. If you've seen it you know the one.  
>   
> This was _also_ partially inspired by **AvengersNewB** and **BladeoftheNebula** discussing Vampire AUs, and I am still partially apologetic for what I did to your ideas.  
>   
> I hope you enjoy it!

Joe had always known about the monsters.

They were the nightmares of his childhood, the creatures that haunted the woods. They were the reason why the village he lived in had walls as high as trees, the reason why all children were taught to wield a blade almost as soon as they could walk.

They were the _reason_ for the fear that haunted Joe’s every step, the reason why every moment of his life felt shrouded in shadows. 

Joe had even seen one, once.

It was a long time ago—he had only been about four or five. They had come in the night, scurrying over the walls like insects to kill as many people as they could.

He’d hidden under his bed, shivering in terror as he listened to the screams of the dying. The door had slammed inward, and Joe’s mother had screamed—and the creature that had stalked inside was covered in crimson blood.

It walked like a human might, but the snarl that twisted its lips told Joe it was anything but. What little Joe could see of its skin was pale, and its eyes shone with hate. Joe had felt frozen, staring at the long, sharp blade the creature held before his gaze was drawn to bared, bloodstained teeth—

Then Joe’s father had run at the thing with a shout of fury, and had forced it from the house.

Mother had managed to close the door, tears streaming down her face even as her expression remained sharply stoic.

And in the morning… Father was dead, his blood mingling with many others as it stained the ground red.

The village had moved on, even though Joe had at first thought it impossible to do so. They buried the ones they had lost, burned the corpses of the few monsters they had slain, and then carried on as usual—planning the next attempt to wipe out the monsters’ nest, rebuilding the walls, continuing to _survive._

There was nothing else, after all, that any of them could do.

But Joe remembered that night more clearly than any other, and from that moment he had wanted nothing more than to help fight for his town, to _protect_ the people he cared about.

His mother had never liked that, though. She told him that he should stick to his books, to his art, and find a job that would keep him safe so that she didn’t have to lose him as well. And besides, she said, keeping people’s spirits up was just as important in a war as anything else.

But Joe had still been taught to fight, same as all the children were—and he made sure to hone his swordcraft just as sharply as he did his poetry and brushstrokes. As time passed, as he grew older and slightly less impulsive, he realised his mother was right. His skills were needed in the village, and his mother needed _him._ No matter how selfish he felt as other men walked through the gates to fight the monsters that plagued them – when he saw how often they didn’t all come back – he reminded himself of the pain his mother would feel if _he_ were the one to fall, and he kept the people’s spirits up with a song.

But he couldn’t stay safe forever. He couldn’t keep his _mother_ safe forever—

For just as often as the men went out to fight… the monsters came to _them._

Joe helped his mother bar the door and windows, using well-practiced movements that had never yet failed them.

Never _yet_ , but. There is always a first time for everything.

When the bashing at the door began, Joe urged his mother to hide—but the strength of the monsters was too much for the wood of the door to bear, and it crashed against the wall with a horrifying sense of finality.

A pair of monsters charged inside, one after the other. One came straight for him—and Joe’s sword swung upward in a graceful arc, splitting flesh from bone in a single movement. He had turned toward his mother before the corpse had even hit the ground, blood flowing from the almost-severed head. But he had no eyes for the dead monster, as the living one was standing over Joe’s kneeling mother, its straight sword aimed for her heart.

Mother was staring up in horror, tears forming in her eyes. “Please,” she whispered. “If you need, kill me. Take me. But _please,_ I beg of you, please leave my son alive.”

The creature’s pale eyes widened, his blood-stained lips parting in shock—

And Joe took the moment presented and threw himself forward with a yell, sword cleaving down through the air—

Only to be blocked by a deft parry.

The force of the impact jarred Joe’s arm, but he held firm—staring into the eyes of this _creature,_ of this thing that had almost killed his mother.

The creature’s eyes _were_ pale, an almost blue-grey set deep into his face and lined with dark circles, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. They were wide, rather than angry, but his skin was splattered with blood—and looking at him, Joe wanted nothing more than to slice his blade across the creature’s chest and tear out whatever kind of twisted heart it possessed.

It was a monster.

Creature.

Demon.

_Masas dima’._

Nothing but a fiend out for blood. Joe was ready to lay upon it the vengeance he’d always wanted for his father, that he’d almost needed for his mother—

But as Joe’s lips pulled into a snarl of his own, as he pulled his blade back to attack once again—

The creature turned tail and _ran_.

He was quick to follow, throwing only a glance to make sure his mother was okay. Then he ignored her cry for him to stay and charged through the door in pursuit.

Oh, he knew that it was a fool’s move. He _knew_ that following a monster into the woods was one of the _stupidest_ things he had ever done in his life—but it had tried to kill his mother. And that was something that Joe would never let go.

The street was a mess of chaos, of screams and cries and blood. Joe’s gaze narrowed in on his target and he raced the narrow alleys, dashing between fights until he made it to the wall. The gate had been thrown open, looked to have been burned with fire—but Joe ran straight through without a glance, gaze locked on the creature sprinting for the tree line. Joe had heard tell of the monsters’ unnatural speed, of the way they could melt into darkness—but he pushed himself harder than he ever had before, his heart pounding just as loudly as his feet upon the ground.

When the creature made the trees it became a little harder to keep in sight, but Joe refused to let anything halt him. His vision was red with rage as he avoided low branches and leapt over fallen trees, the flash of dark clothing and pale skin dancing between the foliage and keeping him on track—

Getting closer, _closer—_

A few times, Joe almost had him, sword lashing out only to be dodged with frustrating swiftness. Joe ground his teeth and tried again, and again, and _again_ —until _finally_ he had him, his sword arcing right toward the creature’s legs, forcing him to block the blow or risk never being able to run again.

The sound of the swords chimed sharp through the air, and once again Joe met that steely gaze with a determined glare.

Their gazes remained locked, for that one moment—and then the creature drew back its blade, and they became locked in a deadly dance instead.

It quickly became apparent that the creature was more than Joe’s match—its movements were swift, its blows heavy. The sword it held had a longer reach than Joe’s, so Joe was forced to stay close, not letting it make use of such advantage. He could smell the iron of the blood that stained the creature’s clothes, the blood of his own people, and he felt himself break into a thousand pieces of shattered anger even as he threw himself forward with all he had.

“You _monsters_ killed my brother,” the creature hissed, his voice a low snarl which raised the hair on the back of Joe’s neck, his sword gleaming in the moonlight that filtered through the trees.

“Monsters like _you_ killed my father,” Joe hissed back, his own blade rising to meet it. As the bloodied swords crossed, Joe looked between them to spit his next words. “And you almost killed my _mother._ ”

The creature’s expression faltered—

But Joe had no time for mercy, and he ducked back to slash again at the man’s gut.

“I wasn’t going to kill her,” the creature said, words darting between defensive strikes. “I thought you were all monsters, but when she looked at me, when she begged for your life—”

“Us, monsters?” Joe asked. “ _You_ are the ones who attacked our _home.”_

Every second word was accompanied by another attack, but even he could see that his anger was making him predictable—and the creature blocked every one. But, somehow, some _why—_

It wasn’t fighting back.

Joe’s face screwed up in frustration, because this wasn’t _right._ He’d come out here to protect his people, and if he lost this fight, if he died, he would have achieved nothing at all. Nothing but bringing more loss and sadness to his poor mother.

Except…

Except. He wasn’t being attacked, that blade was no longer rising to fight him, only to _defend._

It didn’t make any sense.

Unless…

Joe had always been told that the monsters were creatures from another world, that they lived in darkness and bathed in the blood of the innocent. His people had fought them for centuries, for _generations._ They’d been told—

They’d been _told._

Joe had only ever seen _one_ of these creatures before. All others who had seen them… had only seen them in battle.

And in that moment, broken through exhaustion and cracking from adrenaline, Joe couldn’t help but wonder… what must _he_ look like, splattered in blood, wielding his sword, and angry beyond measure?

To the man he was trying to kill… Joe supposed he must look nothing short of a monster.

His breaths were so heavy he could hear them, his chest rising and falling with every sharp thought. He felt like he’d been pierced with a thousand arrows, like his heart was rising up through his throat—

Like nothing made sense, like the world was being turned inside out, spinning on an axis and throwing him from his settled perspective.

“What are you doing?”

The creature looked at him with careful grey eyes, and Joe realised that the cacophony of clashing swords had stopped, the only sounds that of the rustling trees. _He_ had stopped, his sword held in a shaking hand.

Because if this… if this was the truth…

But, it might have been a trap. He’d been _told_ that these creatures were masters of lies and illusion—

But there was that word again. Told _._ Taught. _Trained_.

And he knew that if his blade met flesh now, then he would always wonder.

So, carefully, Joe let his gaze meet grey, and he spoke in slow words.

“My name is Yusuf,” he said, letting his sword shift into a more relaxed hold. “Do you have a name?”

The man before him tilted his head—eyes going wide just as they had back in Joe’s house.

It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. But it wasn’t what he was expecting, either—and he felt a shard of _something_ in his chest as he continued.

“My mother named me Yusuf, but everyone just calls me Joe. She was that woman you almost killed back in the village. And that is why I chased you out here, do you understand? Because you _almost killed my mother.”_ Joe let his sword lower further, so that the point was toward the ground. He wasn’t quite ready to let it go, but—even that small gesture seemed to help, as the creature—the _other man_ let his sword lower as well. “You said you’re here because someone killed your brother?”

“One of you,” the man said—but some of the earlier poison was leached from his tone. “Your people attacked mine a few weeks ago. We buried many.”

Joe remembered that—it was an attack made in vengeance for the one a month or so before, during which several of their fields had been set aflame. He knew that many of his own people had not come back from that raid, either.

“You kill us, so we kill you,” Joe said. “And then you kill us again in return. It is a never-ending cycle, it would seem. But you… _you_ are not a monster.” He frowned. “Are you?”

“Sometimes, I wonder,” the man sighed—but his gaze was no longer poison as he met Joe’s eyes, and his sword, too, lowered all the way as he spoke. “My name is Nicolò, but everyone calls me Nicky. And you… you are Joe.”

“Yes.” Joe swallowed, forcing his emotions down. “I am. And we are both—”

_“Human.”_

The word echoed between them, spoken in two voices yet meaning only one thing.

Everything they thought they knew… was _wrong._

Joe drew a breath, and glanced to the sword in his hand. The blade was stained red, both from the man he had killed in his home and from the few cuts he had managed to slice into Nicky’s skin. He let his eyes linger for a moment, before steeling his nerve and tossing it down to the side.

He heard a clatter, and looked up to find that Nicky had done the same thing—so that the both of them stood entirely weaponless before a man they should be aching to kill.

“This should be impossible,” Joe said, rubbing a hand over his beard in something that was half frustration, half horror. “This… how can it have been so long—”

“The first time I saw a—that I saw one of you,” Nicky said – and Joe didn’t ask what he had stopped himself from saying – “Was during the attack of a few weeks ago, when my brother died. But we were always taught that you were monsters. Taught to hate, nothing more.”

“And nothing less.” Joe nodded in agreement. “I am much the same. I saw one of you when I was younger. He was covered in blood, and he attacked us. He killed my father. But now I look at myself…” Joe shook his head. “How could this have happened? How could we have _let_ it happen?”

“Hate is a poison,” Nicky said. “My mother taught me that. But I didn’t think it extended…”

_To monsters._

The unspoken words hung heavy between them.

“No one knows the truth,” Joe whispered. “I… I do not even know why we fight, save for vengeance and fear. Whatever reason there must have been in the beginning has to be long forgotten. We did not even realise that you are _human.”_ So much time had passed that myths had turned to truth, nightmares of children becoming a false reality.

Nicky’s eyes were distant. “This could stop the killing,” he breathed—then his gaze snapped back to Joe. “Do you think that they’ll believe it? Our people?”

 _“_ _I_ hardly believe it,” Joe groaned. “No, I don’t think that they will. But… I think that we have to try.”

Nicky arched a brow. “We?”

“If it is to be done, it must be done together.”

To be honest, Joe wasn’t sure how he felt about all of it, about working with this man who he had only minutes before been ready to kill. But… Nicky _hadn’t_ hurt his mother. He’d almost done so, but had stopped when he’d realised…

When Mother had begged for Joe’s life, and Nicky had realised that she wasn’t a monster.

Joe clenched his fists tight at his sides, and stared up at Nicky with the same fierce impulsiveness which had sent him storming into the forest in the first place.

“Knowing what I do now, knowing that the killing is senseless, that we have a chance of stopping it… I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try. Could you?”

“No,” Nicky agreed. “It is the right thing to do. And if we fail—”

“Well, we’ll probably be dead,” Joe shrugged. “But I’m pretty good with words. I’m willing to give it a shot.”

God knew how they would manage it, for everything in the world could go wrong. Whoever’s village they tried to approach first would kill the other on sight, and hatred ran so deeply for both that it would be near impossible to overcome.

But for a chance to break the fear… they had to try.

“Together then?” Nicky asked, holding out a hand.

And with a deep breath and a fortifying smile, Joe took a step forward to take it.

“Together.”


End file.
